As you might recall both we and the ER doc had left messages with Dr. Knee's service, but all weekend she didn't return the calls. Not a big deal as there was nothing she could have done that was different from what had already been done. The major accomplishments of the ER visit were to get proper antibiotics going again and to set up a home health care nurse to come out and change the dressings. I groused that doctors won't make house calls, but now nurses will and how the world has turned upside down again. Betsey on the other hand was relieved that she would not have to be the one to change the dressings. I also think she expected one of the ladies from CALL THE MIDWIFE to show up.
I haven't watched that show, but I'm pretty sure none of the characters is a 5'-0" gay Philippino man. I might be wrong, but I'm pretty sure. At any rate Robert (this time I made sure to get the name) came by on Saturday evening and proceeded to go about the business of home health care. That business consisted largely in the signing of paperwork and the outlining of the information stored in the ten pound booklet he plopped onto my lap. The booklet outlines the do's and don'ts of home health care. Apparently it is enough of an issue that Sutter Health felt it necessary to put into writing the admonition that the nurse will NOT go out to the liquor store and pick up some hootch for you. Nor will they wax your floors. They WILL do light housekeeping including small window washing, but it is up to the nurse to decide just how large a small window is. They WILL cook a meal for you, but not for anyone else in the house which had me wondering why you would need the nurse to cook a meal when there was someone else in the house capable of opening a can of Spaghetti-O's.
Having agreed to all the terms and conditions as set forth in said booklet, Robert began the process of changing out the dressing. From within his bag of tricks came forth bandages, saline solution, tape, and all the other necessities for the task at hand. I asked him where he wanted me to sit; when he indicated that it wouldn't matter I took a seat in the big black chair that we bought specifically for my recovery time. It quickly became apparent that while he didn't care where I sat, where I sat didn't have enough light for him to work. Nor did the second chair I sat in. At that point I put my (good) foot down and told him to just tell me where to sit.
While he worked he chatted away, asking questions about how I came to be in this situation. As I told him he began to make suggestions of services I might want to avail myself of; services that his company of course would be happy to administer. I have done sales all my life and I know when the pitch for the "add-ons" is being given. I know that because I'm the king of the add-ons. Come in for a television and you will walk out with the tv, a sound system, a Blu-Ray player, the five year extended warranty, and a bottle of screen cleaner. So I accepted as part of his job the attempt, but he was awfully ham-handed about it and it's a point of professional pride that I smile pleasantly and dismiss ham-handed attempts. I mean I do have standards.
Robert finished up, we made an appointment for Sunday, and off he went. I think he was a little disappointed in only changing the dressing; maybe he thought he was going to make dinner or tell me that he wouldn't wax the floor. At any rate the dressing was dry and my foot actually felt better. I decided to stand up and test the waters, so to speak. Standing was no problem. I did a little stretching of my calf muscle, no problem. I took a step.
Big problem.
Pain shot up through my body like electricity suddenly returning after a blackout. It was so bad that I couldn't bring my right leg forward to balance myself and almost took a header into the carpet. After a deep breath and several self-admonitions to remember patience, I grabbed hold of the scooter and worked my way back to the black chair. There I sat for the rest of the evening catching up on episodes of HOUSE OF LIES and slowly beginning to wonder just how long this process was going to take.
Sunday came, Robert returned and did a new dressing, this time trying to teach Betsey how to change it. Halfway through she got up, walked away, and with a shudder pronounced that we'd continue having a nurse, whether Robert or another, keep coming in to do this. I don't blame her. I can't recall there being anything in our wedding vows about stuffing gauze into wounds.
This morning at the crack of 6 AM, Dr. Knee called. She apologized profusely saying that the answering service had not forwarded our messages to her. Given the problems I had leaving the messages in the first place I didn't doubt that. Even though she didn't have office hours today she wanted me to come in for an evaluation. Once in her office she examined the wounds and pronounced that though it was not the way she would have dressed them, it was still a very good job. She ordered new x-rays to make sure I hadn't broken anything, as well as some blood work to make sure the antibiotics were working. As it turned out I hadn't broken anything and we'll see about the blood work tomorrow.
So that's where it stands on day 53 of my recovery. It is totally accurate to say that this weekend was a case of one step up, two steps back so we'll let The Boss play us out tonight:
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